


Brotherly Deals

by octopus_fool



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Brothers, F/M, Gen, Khazâd November, Mild Emetophobia Warning, Siblings, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-08 21:28:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12873402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octopus_fool/pseuds/octopus_fool
Summary: Gróin woke with a start. Were assassins sneaking into the room or was it something much less sinister?





	Brotherly Deals

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Day 25 of [Khazâd November](https://a-grump-of-dwarves.tumblr.com/post/166304116735/khaz%C3%A2d-november-2017), the additional prompt was "love".  
> 

Gróin woke with a start. Someone was walking through the room. The news from the Iron Hills of an assassin creeping into Náin’s room and attempting to murder him immediately popped into his mind. Were assassins now sneaking into their room? But that wouldn’t make sense. Náin was third in line to the throne after Thráin and Náin’s father Grór. Fundin and Gróin were only sixth and seventh in line, it just wouldn’t make any sense to murder them. 

Gróin risked cracking open an eye and peaked over at Fundin’s bed. It was empty. Gróin was just wondering whether it would be worth moving his head ever so slightly when a familiar pair of legs came into view.

“Fundin? Is that you?”

The legs froze.

“Er… yes?”

Gróin sat up. “Why are you up?”

“I… I was thirsty?”

Fundin had always been a horrible liar and Gróin had known how to use that to his advantage from a very young age.

“In your street clothes?” Gróin asked critically, grinning as his brother squirmed, looking for an excuse.

“It’s colder out in the hallway than you’d think.”

Gróin poked an experimental toe out from under the blanket. “Mh-hm. Of _course_. Absolutely _freezing_.”

There were two reasons why Fundin and Gróin were still sharing a room despite being almost of age, well, Fundin at least, and Gróin was less than ten years younger than he was. One reason was that their mother was ridiculously afraid of assassins. The other reason had always seemed even more ridiculous to the two of them and had had them in stitches whenever the topic arose.

“You wouldn’t happen to be in love, would you?” 

There was a moment of silence. “No?”

Gróin burst into gleeful laughter. “You _are_! You really are!”

“I am not!”

“Are too!”

“This is ridiculous,” Fundin complained. “I’m not playing this stupid game.

They were silent for a bit as Fundin took off his boots. 

“Is she worth getting in trouble though?” Gróin asked. “She’s not an elf or a human, is she?”

“Of course not!” Fundin retorted, throwing his pillow at Gróin. “She’s a perfectly respectable dwarrowdam!”

“I knew it! So there is someone!” Gróin rejoiced.

Fundin tackled Gróin and tried to hit him with the pillow he had just thrown at him. Of course, Gróin wasn’t going to let that happen that easily and within seconds, they were engaged in a wrestling match.

“Eww, you smell like her perfume!” Gróin realised. “Just what were you doing with her?! No wait, please don’t tell me! Just don’t get your ‘perfectly respectable dwarrowdam’ pregnant.”

“Of course I won’t!” Fundin retorted, glaring at Gróin. He paused and his face turned thoughtful. “Except, maybe she already is…”

Gróin’s jaw dropped and he grimaced at the mental images that arose.

Fundin used the chance to grab the pillow from him and hit it over his head with full force.

“Of course she’s not, you gullible brickhead! We’re not that stupid, you know. Besides, you’re starting to sound like Amad!”

“You take that back!” Gróin grabbed his own pillow and smacked it across Fundin’s face, fuelled by the realisation that his brother was right. 

They both froze when they heard the door of their parents’ bedroom squeak. When they heard footsteps coming their way, Fundin flung himself over to his own bed as quietly as possible and quickly covered his street clothes with his blanket.

“Lads? What’s going on in there?” 

“Nothing!” Fundin said quickly. “Gróin just had a nightmare. He dreamt that wargs had chewed up his stuffed donkey.”

Gróin stuck his tongue out towards Fundin. Why was it that Fundin could actually lie to their father without him noticing? Fundin knew perfectly well that it had been years since he kept that donkey in his bed. And so what if he still kept it on top of his clothes in his wardrobe?

“Alright, just go back to sleep.”

“We will, Adad,” both of them said in unison. 

Gróin waited until the footsteps retreated and the door squeaked closed behind their father. 

“I’m going to tell Amad that you were gone and why, you know!”

“No, you’re not!” Fundin hissed back. “If you tell, I’m going to...”

“To do what? There’s not much you can do, and she’ll already know it then anyway.”

“I’ll tell every dwarrowdam you’re ever interested in about that time you threw up all over King Thrór because Náin had dared you to eat worms.”

Gróin took a deep breath. That would really completely ruin any prospects he might have, but he knew Fundin wouldn’t actually do that. He just had to stay calm now and he would get what he wanted.  
“No, you’re not going to do that.”

“Why do you think that?” 

“Because you always nearly get sick yourself when I remind you about the worm that ended up in your ale.”

There was the sound of Fundin swallowing thickly several times. Gróin grinned in the dark.

“Alright,” Fundin said finally. “But please don’t tell Amad about this. I’m sorry about what I said about you having nightmares about your donkey.”

“That’s not good enough,” Gróin retorted. “I want fifty gold coins.”

He could hear Fundin draw in a sharp breath and doing some quick mental calculations.  
“Alright, you’ll get the money.”

“And I want to know who your ‘perfectly respectable dwarrowdam’ is.”

“That’s not fair!” Fundin protested. “The money is more than enough!”

“Or I’ll tell Amad.”

Fundin huffed. “You wouldn’t know her name anyway. I’ll point her out to you when we walk past her next time.”

“Alright, deal,” Gróin said, trying not to let his grin bleed into his voice.

“You have to swear.”

As Gróin swore on the mountain and the king, he mentally congratulated himself on having such a light sleep and a brother that could be brought to give in so quickly.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m currently taking Christmas/Yuletide/winter requests/prompts over on Dreamwidth! If you’re interested, read more here: <https://octopus-fool.dreamwidth.org/2017/12/03/>


End file.
